Spilled Batter
by Grave Bells
Summary: Baljeet just wanted to make cookies. Bujeet. Gets a wee bit sexual. R&R


_**Spilled Batter**_

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><p>Baljeet hummed pleasantly to himself, his genius mind wandering to less-than-important thoughts as he retrieved the eggs from the fridge. Two were plucked from the tray and cracked into the mixing bowl on the granite counter.<p>

Baking was a secret past-time of Baljeet's; it was calming and uncomplicated, not to mention that you were left with tasty treats when all was said and done. After a hard day of college and work, he would come home to his shared apartment and whip up something real quick and small. If it took more than a half an hour or so and didn't come out to be something easily hide-able, he didn't bake it.

The truth is, he didn't want his roommate to know he baked. He'd get teased for it. Besides, his roommate didn't really need the extra calories. Not that his roommate was _fat_ or anything; on the contrary, most of his bulk was muscle. But he did have some belly, so Baljeet was constantly reminding him to watch what he ate.

The Indian licked a finger, then glanced at the clock. _Good, I still have some time_. He tip-toed his way into the high cupboard next to the fridge and pulled down the flour, the sugar, and the chocolate chips.

Cookies, he'd decided on the bus ride home. Chocolate chip ones.

Once he was sure the liquid ingredients had been thoroughly mixed, he pulled out the measuring cups and began measuring the sugar. He sighed contentedly; yes, baking was certainly the best way to unwind after a long day.

A pair of large, strong hands gripped into his hips, and Baljeet knocked over the bag of sugar in the jolt of fright.

"Whacha doin', 'Jeet?"

"Do you not know how to make your presence known, Buford?" Baljeet snapped, passing a glare back at his roommate as he tried to slow his pounding heart. "You scared me."

"That was the idea," Buford grinned, leaning down to nibble at the back of the other male's neck.

"Look at all this sugar you made me waste! Sugar is expensive, you know!" Baljeet tried to shrug himself out of Buford's hold, but instead found himself pressed up against the counter. "Buford!"

"So, what _are_ you doing?" the ex-football player inquired, one of his hands nonchalantly finding it's way under the fabric of his captive's shirt. "Baking cookies?"

"What? No-!" Baljeet squeaked, his face quickly flushing when his skin was ghosted over. "Th-this is nothing!" He scramble to, for some reason, hide all evidence of his secret, and in the process managed to tilt his mixing bowl over. Eeping, he tried to back away from the counter to avoid the gooey spill, but only ended up smashing his backside up against the man behind him. The slop spilled all down his front, sufficiently ruining both his white shirt and his skinny jeans.

Before he could respond with more than a look of disgust, Baljeet found his hips pinned back against the side of the counter. The force caused his upper body to bend, and he had to put his hands out to keep from hitting the granite. His palms slipped on the sugar and sent it all over the floor before he could finally get stability.

"Buford!" the Indian frowned heavily, turning his head to look back at his peer.

"I found the present you left me in my phone," Buford said, sporting a rather predatory grin as his fingers moved to roughly undo the scrawny male's jeans.

Baljeet faltered, his eyes widening.

_Oh no, that was _his_ phone I took those pictures with?_

"Th-those were not for _you_!" Baljeet sputtered, his face burning a cherry red as he tried to squirm away in embarrassment.

"Then who were they for, hm?" Buford purred, one of his hands dipping into the Indian's boxer briefs. He smirked when it earned him a strangled gasp. "You're _other_ boyfriend?"

Oh yeah, did Baljeet mention he's been in a relationship with his roommate for 4 years? Did he also mention that a few weeks before this, he'd been a little overly curious and taken some nudes of himself with a phone that he _thought_ was his own?

"N-No!" He stumbled, heat flaring up his body as Buford's fingers continued to light matches on his skin. He bit down into his lip when his knees began to shake. "I-I was just-!"

"Jus' bein' _sexy_, that's what you were doin'," the bully mumbled bluntly, planting little kisses along the back of his love's neck.

"You know, I was – _ah!_ – trying to do s-s-something here," Baljeet attempted to argue, his discretion faltering at the other's hands. "A-and I still ha – _AH_ – ve homework to do!"

"You and I both know that's a petty excuse."

Baljeet whimpered, knowing Buford was right. The truth was, Baljeet found Buford's spontaneous bouts of arousal rather exciting. But he'd never admit it out loud, so instead he pretended to be against it to discreetly egg his lover on. They were never any REAL objections, just little excuses like, "I have to do the dishes!" or "The laundry needs folding!" Buford had always loved it when he resisted a little.

Baljeet's hands, which had begun to perspire in the stimulation, slipped from their place on the counter top and ran through the fields of sugar still lingering on the counter. His weak knees, combined with the physics of falling against the counter, caused him to press heavily into the lower half of the body holding him against the cabinets.

Buford groaned into his ear.

Completely ignoring the granulated sugar stuck to the side of his face and his arms, Baljeet reached up and fisted a handful of Buford's hair.

"B-bedroom," he moaned quietly, and whined when the ministrations stopped.

Buford – who was more than eager to fill the request - flipped the Indian around, effortless threw him over his shoulder like a sack, and hurried out of the kitchen. Mere seconds later, the door to their shared bedroom slammed shut, and the two were left to boil in their desires.

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><p>WHY DID IT FEEL SO DIRTY TO WRITE THIS. IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVEN'T WRITTEN A <em>LEMON<em> BEFORE OR ANYTHING.

Sorry if it's awkward and shit. It's my first time ever writing something _remotely_ steamy for these two, so I'm not quite used to it yet.

I apologize to Dan Povenmire and Swampy Marsh.


End file.
